


What we could have been

by Salambo06



Series: What they write [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Depression, Drinking, Epistolary, Grieving John, M/M, Notes, POV John Watson, Pining, Post-Reichenbach, fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-18 08:28:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 50
Words: 3,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8155669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salambo06/pseuds/Salambo06
Summary: After the Fall John starts writing notes, imagining what their life could have been.





	1. 3 days after

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, the idea for this fic came to me while driving, and I'm not sure where I'm going with it yet, but I really love the format of this fic, so I'm forcing myself to post it!
> 
> You can expect updates very frequently, since it will aways be short chapters. You can also expect a lot of pining and angst (sorry but not sorry...), but you know me, there will always be a happy ending!
> 
> These first few chapters are unbeated, but then it'll be [Heather](http://snogbox1.tumblr.com/) who's going to beta them for me, so a huge thank you again <3
> 
> Pauline
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://johnlockfulfillment.tumblr.com/)

>   ** _Note left on the kitchen table_**

Have you ever wondered what we could have been?

 

* * *

> **_Note thrown to the trash, unfinished_ **

I can’t stop thinking about it. Did you, Sherlock? At least wondered once, just once?

You must have, you always think of every possibility, every possible outcome, of course you thought about it!

Why didn't you say anything. You could just have told me, just fucking to-  



	2. 4 days after

>   ** _Note written on a newspaper_**

I can’t even tell you how many times I thought about asking you. Just once would have been enough, just to know, to finally know.

Could we, Sherlock? Could we have been more?

* * *

>   ** _Note torn apart_**

Fuck you, Sherlock Holmes

* * *

>   ** _Note abandoned on the coffee table_**

Why am I even writing these?


	3. 6 days after

>   ** _Note left on Sherlock’s chair_**

Ok, come back now. This has lasted enough. You’ve made your point, Moriarty is dead, he’s gone for good. You can come back, I made you tea and it’ll be cold soon. Hurry up, please.

* * *

>   ** _Note soaked with tears_**

Just come back, please, don’t do this to me. Don’t be dead. You can’t.

Don’t you understand? I can’t-

* * *

>   ** _Note left on the floor in front of Sherlock’s bedroom_**

Are you in there?


	4. 8 days after

>   ** _Note written in the park and forgotten there_**

I think I just saw you.

* * *

 

> **_Note hidden under his pillow_ **

It wasn’t you. Fuck.

It can never be you.

 

  
You are dead.


	5. 12 days after

> **_Note left on the nightstand_ **

I think I need to write these. I have no fucking idea why and I’m sure Ella would love to tell me but I can’t go back to see her. She doesn’t understand, just like everyone else.

I’m not even sure you would. It’s ironic, isn't it? You, the great Sherlock Holmes, able to read everything on anybody, and yet, you couldn’t even once realised what I felt this entire time. Fucking ironic.

* * *

>   ** _Note left on the bed_**

Or could you?

Did you?

* * *

>   ** _Note left on the bedroom floor_**

I just need to know, Sherlock, please.

Did you know? Did you still choose to jump anyway?

  
Did you care about me at all?


	6. 13 days after

> **_Note written during breakfast_ **

I’ve just made you tea again.

* * *

 

> **_Note left on his chair_ **

I know I shouldn’t do this, but I don’t even care anymore.

I used to think about what we could have been all the time, and I would be fooling myself to think I’m going to stop now. Especially now.

* * *

 

> **_Note written too fast_ **

The thing is, Sherlock, I’m certain we would have been amazing together.

 

* * *

 

> **_Note kept inside his pocket_ **

Fucking amazing.


	7. 14 days after

> _**Note left on the kitchen table, in the middle of the night.** _

I’ve been thinking about it for hours. It’s not as if I could sleep anyway.

For years I’ve played that first night with you over and over again in my head, trying to figure out if I had missed an opportunity back then. I know you had made it clear at Angelo’s, but still, I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if I had kissed you after diner.

I thought about it, you know. All the way back to my flat. I could still see you in front of Baker Street, asking when I would move my stuff while fumbling with your keys.

I should have kissed you.

 

* * *

 

> _**Note written a few seconds after the first one.** _

No. I’m glad I didn’t.

I needed time.

Time to properly fall in love with you.


	8. 15 days after

> **_Note left on Sherlock’s chair_ **

You should know, I realised I was in love with you while watching you play your violin sitting on this chair.

* * *

> **_Note unfinished_ **

That was also the day I realised I would nev-

* * *

> **_Note left next to the first one_ **

That was also the day you used all of our food for one of your experiments and I forced you to go to Tesco to buy everything again.

I think I still have all the texts you sent me during the hour it took you to come back with only two bags of chips and a bottle of milk.


	9. 17 days after

> _**Note found on the floor**._

Today, I hate you.


	10. 20 days after

> ******_Note written late at night_ **

I didn’t mean that.

I don’t think I will ever be able to hate you, to truly hate you. I’m far too in love with you for that.

It’s fucking nice, isn’t it?

* * *

> **_Note written in bed, half-finished_ **

I’ve been thinking about this for the past three days, and I think I know when I should have kissed you for the first time.

If you were here right now, I think I’d make you guess.

I’m sure you’d be able to fin-


	11. 21 days after

> **_Note found under the covers_ **

Christ, I can’t remember the last time I slept for so long.

At least I don’t remember my nightmares.

* * *

 

> **_Note written while listening to Sherlock’s recording_ **

Remember the case with the stolen jewelry about three weeks after I moved in? We spent two hours hidden behind curtains waiting for the thieves to arrive. I can still remember your voice when you complained again and again about the curtain’s smell. I almost gave us away because you kept making me laugh.

Do you remember?

I bet you do. You never forget a thing, right?

Then you must remember the cab ride home, the traffic and the moment we realised it would go faster if we just made it back home by foot. Now, do you remember when you stopped and pointed to the sky, naming the constellations above us and telling me “See, I do know some facts about astronomy” with an amused smile.

Do you?

Ok.

That’s the moment I should have kissed you for the first time. 


	12. 22 days after

> ******_Note left on the sofa_ **

It would have been perfect timing, don’t you think?

* * *

> **_Note written on the corner of a book page_ **

I was already so in love with you, Sherlock.


	13. 30 days after

> **_Note left on the bathroom sink_ **

It seems that I can’t stop writing these after all.


	14. 31 days after

> ******_Note abandoned on the floor_ **

I’m that fucked up now, Sherlock.

* * *

 

> **_Note half torn apart_ **

How could you do this to me? How could you think I could watch you jump, hear your skull crack open and just go on with my life?

You had to know, fuck, Sherlock, you had to know.

 

* * *

> **_Note found in his hand in the morning_ **

I should have kissed you every single day.


	15. 33 days after

> **_Note left on his chair_ **

It’s been over a month now.

Time to come back, Sherlock.


	16. 34 days later

> ******_Note found by the bed_ **

There are moments I swear I can still hear you downstairs.

If I close my eyes, I can picture you working on yet another experiment, your favorite dressing gown leaving nothing to my imagination and your hair wild.

If I close my eyes, I can picture myself joining you and kissing your parted lips.

 

* * *

> **_Note thrown to the trash_ **

I just asked you if you wanted to go grab some take away.

I’m alone in that flat.

 

Alone.

* * *

 

> **_Note kept in his pocket_ **

I need to find new restaurants to go to.


	17. 36 days after

> ******_Note written in the middle of the night_ **

Can’t sleep.

* * *

 

> **_Note slipped between the sofa’s cushion_ **

I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.

* * *

> **_Note torn apart_ **

I can’t find my gun.


	18. 41 days after

> ******_Note hidden under his pillow_ **

I can’t stop thinking about that first kiss.

I can see us there, standing alone in the street. You, with your eternal coat and scarf. Me, shivering because of the cold, or maybe just because of you.

It is so easy to picture us together. My lips against yours. You, not moving at first, just the time for me to learn the exact shape of your lips.

 

You, frozen and eyes wide open.

Me, waiting for you to either back away or press in.

* * *

> **_Note written in the morning_ **

You would have pressed in, right?

* * *

> **_Note written four and a half second after the first one_ **

Of course you would have.

This is my fantasy after all.

* * *

> **_Note written late at night_ **

im drunk.

you’r dead and im alone - fucking alone

im never gonna know the taste of your lips


	19. 56 days after

> **_Note found under the bed_ **

I think Ella would agree that the notes are better than talking to you out loud.

At least, like this, people won’t notice I’m slowly going insane.


	20. 58 days after

> **_Note left on the sofa_ **

I thought about that first kiss again.

(much more than I should, really)

* * *

> **_Note half finished_ **

You would have pressed in and let yourself relax in my arms.

You would have pressed in and I would have kissed you again and again and again.

It sounds ridiculous, but it would have been one of those kisses when you think  _ Oh, I found you, finally _ .


	21. 59 days after

> **_Note written after a sleepless night_ **

The taste of our first kiss.

I can’t think about anything else.

Please, just- just come back and kiss me.

* * *

> **_Note found on the floor_ **

I just need to have you here with me again. This flat is too quiet, the nights are too quiet, my life is too quiet.

I can't live like this.

* * *

> **_Note soaked with tears_ **

Please, Sherlock.


	22. 61 days after

>   ** _Note written on a bench_**

What would you have done afterwards?

* * *

>   ** _Note kept hidden_**

Would you have dragged me home? Would you have swallowed my moans and gasps as we’d made our way up and inside the flat? Would you have lead me to your bedroom? Mine?

Or would you have let me take control? Would you have let me undress you, kiss you, make you mine in every sense of the word? Would you have trusted me?

 

Would it had been desperate, both of us hungry for each other?

Or tender, taking our time to explore the other, to make the moment eternal?

 

Would you have let me love you again and again?

* * *

> **_Note written slowly._ **

Tender.

Our first time has to be tender.

* * *

> **_Note written with an elevated heartrate_ **

God, Sherlock.


	23. 63 days after

> ******_Note left on the kitchen table_ **

I should get rid of your mug.

At least I would stop making you tea almost every morning. 


	24. 65 days after

> **_Note written in the bathroom_ **

Even in here I can’t even glance at the door to your room.

 

* * *

> **_Note left on the floor_ **

You could be in there.

For all I know, you could be in there.

* * *

> **_Note pinned on the wall_ **

HE’S DEAD!


	25. 68 days after

> **_Note kept in his pocket_ **

I would have made love to you again in the middle of the night.

* * *

> **_Note written ten seconds later_ **

What am I talking about.

I don’t even know if that’s something you do, something you like.

* * *

 

> **_Note written late at night_ **

We still had so much to discover about each other, Sherlock.


	26. 71 days after

> **_Note left on Sherlock’s chair_ **

Let me tell you something,

I would have been happy just to kiss you for the rest of my life.


	27. 76 days after

> **_Note written at a coffee shop_ **

I’m out of the flat.

I’m not sure why exactly.

* * *

> **_Note written quickly_ **

Sometimes, I still hope you’ll be home when I come back.


	28. 79 days after

> **_Note left on the coffee table_ **

Would it had been really different?

The cases, I mean.

Would it have all been really different if we had been together?


	29. 82 days after

> **_Note written on the Tube_ **

I wouldn’t have held back, for sure.

I would have taken your hand in cabs, stood close to you at crime scene, touch you anytime I could. Just the brush of a hand against your shoulder, back, neck…

I would have kissed you when you were brilliant, when you were looking at me like I hold all the answers, when you'd smile and your face all lit up.

I wouldn’t have cared, Sherlock. Not about the people around, not about the whispers, not about the rumors.

I would have kissed you.

* * *

> **_Note left on the kitchen table_ **

You would have let me, of course.

You love my praises.

Surely, you would have love my  _ amazing,  _ and  _ brilliant _ and  _ extraordinary _ as I whispered it against your lips.


	30. 87 days after

> **_Note left in front of Sherlock’s bedroom._ **

I’m coming in.


	31. 93 days after

> **_Note torn apart_ **

You weren’t there.


	32. 98 days after

> **_Note written early in the morning_ **

Time to stop writing these.

You’re gone, Sherlock.

You’re gone and I’m still here.

It’s time I start to accept it.

* * *

> **_Note written two and a half seconds later_ **

Right?


	33. 100 days after

> **_Note pinned on the fridge_ **

I love you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ends the part 1 of this story.  
> The format of the next chapters will change a little, but it will still be John writing to Sherlock until he comes back.
> 
> Thank you so much for all your comments on this story <3


	34. 165 days after

> **_Letter written in the bus_ **

Sherlock,  
  
I went back to work today.  
  
I’ve was lucky they even allowed me to stay home for so long. Everyone was looking at me as if they never expected me to come back at all. Strange, yeah? You were only my best friend to the rest of the world, no one grieves his best friend forever, right?  
  
Or did everyone but you notice? Did they all know what you were to me, what you meant? Did they all know and you didn’t?  
  
I don’t even care anymore, you know. I wake up in the morning and force myself not to look for you, not to call your name and ask you what you’ve spent your night doing. Even after all these months, your presence still lingers in the flat. Maybe I should look for a new place. At least I wouldn’t have to face your empty chair anymore. I can’t even look at it, you know. Every time I turn to talk to you, I turn to that empty chair and face the harrowing truth of your absence. Of course so many little things still remind me of you here… The mug I couldn’t bring myself to put away, the sheets music on the table, your violin case, the scarf you left on the floor. Just little things that make it harder and harder to live there.  
  
Moving out shouldn’t be that bad. For all I know, it could make me forget about the hole in my chest.  
  
Who am I kidding?  
  
You fucking died, Sherlock. You went on the roof, called me and made me watch as you jumped. Christ. The sound of your body hitting the ground will probably be the last thing I will think of when I die.  
  
You died, Sherlock, and you took all I ever wanted with you.  
  
But Ella said work could help, so here I am. Sitting on the bus and writing to you. Again. I don’t know why, to be entirely honest. I’ve stopped myself countless times these past few months, wanting to write note after note. It worked, for a time. I wasn’t writing down everything anymore, and somehow, it allowed me to control my anger and grief. It’s funny, yeah? When I met you, Ella said writing down what happened to me would help, and now leaving you notes was only making it worse. Funny.  
  
I miss you, Sherlock.  
  
I miss you so much sometimes I cannot breathe. It hits me, out of nowhere. One instant I’m watching a movie, trying to sleep or eating, and I think of you. I think of you, Sherlock, and my entire body hurts. It hurts to even keep my eyes open. I think of you, Sherlock, and I’m reminded that I will never see you smile, never hear you laugh, never feel your eyes on me. I think of you, Sherlock, and the weight of all the things I never told you come crashing down on my shoulders.  
  
You were everything, Sherlock, and you took it all away.  
  
Even here, on the bus, surrounded by people, I feel completely alone.  
  
I won’t ask you to come back. Not anymore.  
  
You are dead and I need to accept it.  
  
Yours,  
John


	35. 246 days after

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realised I forgot to post three chapters before that first letter, so make sure to read chapter 31, 32 and 33 :)

> **_Letter left on a bench in the park_ **

Sherlock,

Here I am again, writing to you.

There’s no real reason today, no excuses.

It’s just that I ran into Angelo on my way back home, and I can’t think about anything else right now. I think about that first dinner, of course. How can I not. You were stunning, absolutely brilliant and I couldn’t take my eyes off you. I was already hooked, Sherlock, sitting in front of you and thinking about that flat I was going to share with you.

Do you want to know what I thought about the entire time we were there?

Maybe I shouldn’t write it here. It’s only going to make it all worse.

I shouldn’t even be writing this letter.


	36. 323 days after

> _**Letters written in the middle of the night** _

I can’t stop thinking about the cases.

The Woman’s case for example. I can’t stop myself from thinking about how different everything would have been if I had told you, if I had kissed you that night. God, just writing it down makes me want to scream.

She was playing with you. I think.

Of course you knew and in a way, you played with her too. But how I wish I could have kissed you that day. When I walked in and she was naked, smiling at you, teasing you! She was fucking naked, Sherlock!

I should have kissed you and made It clear who you belonged to, that you were mine and mine only. I should have kissed you and made you forget about her entirely. I’m that good of a kisser, you know. You would have loved my kisses, Sherlock, fucking loved them!

Fuck. What am I even writing?


	37. 325 days after

>   ** _Note written in the middle of the night_**

I need to finish these letters.

* * *

> **_Note left on the floor_ **

You did this to me, Sherlock.

I can't even write anymore. 

* * *

> **_Note kept in his pocket_ **

I still love you.


	38. 379 days after

> _**Note half-finished** _

Sherlock, there is this-

* * *

> _**Note left on the floor** _

She arrived two months ago at the clinic and I think she wants to-

* * *

> _**Note written in the middle of the night** _

____She likes me, Sherlock.


	39. 407 days after

> **_Letters written in the morning_ **

Mary is great, Sherlock.

She’s funny, and she likes to surprise me at work sometimes. She laughs when I’m grumpy and always finds a way to make me forget about a bad day.

She’s kind too. Sometimes we spend entire evenings not talking, simply being together, and she understands. She understands that I need time and space, to forget about you. She asks questions and doesn’t run away when I don’t want to answer. She knows how to listen when I need it too.

She’s beautiful, with bright eyes and sandy hair. But I’m sure you wouldn’t have noticed. You never noticed anything about my girlfriends except how boring they all were. I have to say, I think you would have liked Mary. She’s clever, you know. Quite clever.

I told her yesterday about the notes.

She didn’t ask me to read them, or even to stop.

I’ve told you. She understands.

She knows I love you, Sherlock.

She’s giving me time to let you go, I guess.

* * *

 

> **_Note left on the kitchen table_ **

 Letting you go.

Sherlock.

Why is it still painful just thinking about it?


	40. 434 days after

> **___Note written at work_ **

****Maybe it's time to move out.


	41. 440 days after

 

> **_Letters left on Sherlock's chair_ **

You know, it kills me just thinking about packing.

I look at all the boxes, at these two chairs and the kitchen table, and I ask myself what the bloody hell I am doing. I shouldn't have to move out. This is my home, Sherlock. You made it my home. From the very moment I walked in here, already out of breath and desperately wanting to  _be_ with you. I sat on that chair, watching you, listening to you, and wondered whether or not you'd let me move in that very first night. 

This is my home, Sherlock, because it was yours.

Ours.

I used to think we'd grow old here. Maybe I would have been sleeping in your bedroom by then, maybe I would have found the courage to tell you. I don't know. I shouldn't be thinking about this anymore, really.

But the things is, Sherlock, the only reason I used to see myself moving out would have been to go live somewhere quiet and peaceful for our old days. Sussex maybe? I think you would have liked Sussex. Don't you?

But not like this.

Never like this. 

 


	42. 453 days after

> **_Note written in his new kitchen_ **

Why am I here? 


	43. 486 days after

> _**Note left on their bed** _

Mary always wakes up after me. It's strange, but it bothers me. 

I know it shouldn't. I can just get up and leave the room, but she's here and everything's is just so empty out there.

So quiet.

* * *

> **_Note kept in his pocket_ **

I can't stop thinking about waking up next to you, Sherlock.

I wouldn't mind staying there, watching you, waiting for you to wake up.

I wouldn't.

* * *

> **_Note torn appart_ **

So why can't I watch her? Wait for her?


	44. 567 days after

> **_Note written at work_ **

I thought I saw you today.

Again.

* * *

> **_Note thrown in the trash_ **

It was supposed to stop, Sherlock.

With time, it was supposed to stop.

 


	45. 599 days after

> **_Letter unfinished_ **

Mary came with me to your grave today. It felt strange, standing there with her, but at the same time, I'm glad she came. I needed her to see, to understand that a part of my life is lying with you under there. She keeps telling me she gets it, that I can take all the time I need, but I don't want to anymore, Sherlock.

I want to wake up next to her and smile at the thought of spending a lazy day at home. I want to go to work and not check my phone at random moments because I forgot you were dead. I want to stop taking the wrong bus, stop going back to a home that's not mine anymore. 

I know I said it time and time again already. I guess it's harder than I thought. I don't know.

Mary deserves someone who cares about her, who dedicates his entire day to her and only her, Sherlock. 

It her, now. Not you. Not y-


	46. 634 days after

> _**Letter left in front of Baker Street** _

I've decided I'm going to propose.

Not today, not tomorrow, but one day. Soon.

She's nothing like you, Sherlock. She's not dangerous. I can't do danger anymore. It doesn't matter if I crave it some days, doesn't matter if it pains me just thinking about all the boring days ahead of me. I tried danger, Sherlock, with James, with you, and see where it got me. 

Mary is stability, Mary is safety, and that's what I need now. 

I'm going to propose to her and she'll say yes (I know she will), and we'll have a peaceful, quiet life. No more heartbreaks. Maybe kids, who knows? I never thought about it really, not when I saw myself growing old with you. Kids would have been insane, with our lifestyle, with the cases and your tendency to shoot at the walls. God, what am I even talking about?

This a final goodbye, Sherlock.

Thank you for the years you gave me, thank you for saving me, for showing me what it felt like to love, truly, deeply. Thank you for the rush, for the breathless chases, for the memories of  _home_. Thank you for letting me be part of your world, even just for a while. 

I love you, and always will.

 John


	47. 675 days after

> **_Note torn appart_ **

I saw Lestrade today. I told him about Mary.

I didn't liked the way he looked at me, Sherlock.

* * *

> **_Note written two and half seconds later_ **

****Fuck. I said I wouldn't write these anymore.


	48. 734 days after

> **_Note kept in his pocket_ **

Last chance, Sherlock.

Come back.

Come back and stop me.


	49. 735 days after

> **_Note lost on his way home_ **

Tomorrow, Sherlock.

 


	50. 736 days after

> **_Note kept inside his suit pocket._ **

Please, please, please. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter marks the end of the first part of this story! Thank you to everyone who read, left a kudo or commented, it kept me going and only made me want to write again and again. 
> 
> You can expect the second of part very soon, most likely from Sherlock's POV after he comes back, and his text threads with John. I hope you'll like it just as much :)
> 
> Once again, thank you <3
> 
> Pauline.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comment are really appreciated :)
> 
>  
> 
> [I do fic commission now](http://johnlockfulfillment.tumblr.com/tagged/fic-commission)  
> 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover Art for 'What we could have been' by Salambo06](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8513428) by [missmuffin221](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmuffin221/pseuds/missmuffin221)




End file.
